Doubtless
by Stephane Richer
Summary: He's beautiful and he's here holding Midorima's hands and Midorima's heart


Doubtless

Disclaimer: don't own.

Note: Happy birthday Midorin. This isn't one of my better efforts but at least I wrote something.

* * *

The ball rolls off of Midorima's fingers as he passes it; the freshman forward, Morimura, catches it (though not without difficulty; how does he expect to ever get any minutes if he can't catch the straightforward passes in practice? It's irritating; even if he's a first-rate defender he can't be lax in other areas) and dribbles away, driving through two defenders (they didn't even half-ass a try; it's enough to make Midorima want to scream but he reminds himself to focus as Morimura throws down a dunk). Coach Nakatani calls time and Midorima heads to the bench.

This may be a scrimmage game, but it's still important and that's no excuse for these underclassmen not to try their hardest. Every day Midorima finds that he identifies more and more with Miyaji and understands how his fuse got so short. Freshmen are generally horrible, too complacent and used to being the best on their middle school teams. Some of them aren't, but most start out that way at least, and even three months into the school year they're still obstinately refusing to try. Midorima sighs, squeezing Karate Bear's paw for some extra luck before grabbing some water and smoothing his hair out of his eyes. His bangs are plastered against his forehead and his glasses are dripping with perspiration and these stupid kids refuse to break a sweat. He crosses his arms and glares at nothing in particular.

"Shin-chan's just bothered about something else," says Takao to Morimura.

"I'm not bothered by anything."

The response, while automatic, is most certainly not true—he's definitely bothered by these damn kids, but there's also the matter of his plans after practice, or, more accurately, his now-cancelled plans with Kise. He shouldn't be bent out of shape by it, honestly; Kise had just announced his intention to come into Tokyo a few days before, that he was trying to get a job near Midorima's birthday so they could spend time together—but then last night he'd called again, apologizing because his agent had told the studio he'd be available for two hours longer than he'd planned on, two hours he'd been hoping to spend with Midorima. They'd probably drive him to the train station afterward and that would be that—he'd apologized, but Midorima had waved him off. There's no point in dwelling on it; what's not happening is not happening—it's always been hard to get time together; he shouldn't feel this disappointed. Work is important and it's the reason they end up in the same city as often as they do, but even repeating this in his head like a mantra does nothing to quell his nerves and worries. What if Kise's blowing him off on purpose? What if this is his way of hinting that he really wants nothing to do with Midorima after all? What if Midorima fell for a pack of lies hook, line, and sinker? He's always been bad with people; it took him ages for him to get the hint that Kise liked him in the first place—but what kind of person is he to doubt Kise here? He's the one who puts other things first, like school and basketball; he's the one who's always telling Kise to work harder. He has no reason to doubt Kise's sincerity, even if the root of this doubt comes from Midorima's lack of confidence in himself. He sighs, clenching his fist tightly around the water bottle.

Coach Nakatani is finished lecturing the underclassmen and signifies for the seniors to come over and join; they'll be mixing up the teams a little bit and sending Takao to Midorima's team. Some of the kids on the other team protest that it's unfair, that their combination is too lethal—Midorima almost lets a proud smile ease its way onto his face, but he's still irritated. They should be eager to take on new challenges and they should at least not be this easy to beat—perhaps it might help if they tried, although they're clearly reluctant to go that far.

Midorima sighs. In all fairness, he's not the most pleasant person and he's very particular about certain things, but everything is rubbing him the wrong way and he can't just let himself be happy. This is so stupid; he shouldn't let this one thing dictate the way he reacts to everything around him. It's immature; it's not helpful; this practice will be a waste unless he just lets it go and focuses on the task at hand. It's that thought that finally kicks him into gear; he tries to shake out the gathering tension in his hands and gets set for the other side to send the ball in bounds.

The squeak of his shoes against the scuffed floor is satisfying; he throws up his hands to block at just the right time and runs down the floor, shooting a three because he's open and the kids just can't keep up with him. Just these oft-repeated motions, the execution of the play, are enough to cool his head a bit and get him back in the game; his eyes are focused on the ball as the player he's guarding receives a pass and he feints left before lunging right as the ball soars out of the player's hands.

* * *

He's feeling calmer after practice and the extra-long shower; his hair is still drying in the evening sun and the warm air actually feels nice on his skin. He blinks, shading his forehead to deflect the sun's glare from his glasses. Someone's waiting by the gate, leaning against the wall, but it's so late out—most activities end earlier in the summer so the members can enjoy the evenings; sports and academic clubs are the exceptions and even so, the basketball practices are longer than average. There can't be too many people this person is waiting for—is it an assailant? He'll have a hard time trying to rob Midorima. It could be someone from club waiting for him, but he'd told Takao earlier to take the cart home without him. He'd really rather be alone with his thoughts now, even though he's perking up a bit. As he nears, the figure nearly leaps up and Midorima readies himself.

"Midorimacchi?"

And he is engulfed in Kise's warmth, the aroma of expensive cologne and strong arms squeezing around his waist and the familiar outline of a face burying itself in his neck. Midorima blinks; this is…highly improbable. And it feels so good; there's something like relief in the way Kise's hands cling to the back of his shirt and he's wrinkling it but Midorima can't say anything because his throat is clogged too much for him to make a sound.

Kise stands up straight, bringing his hands down to clasp Midorima's.

"I'm so sorry; I didn't bring your present because I thought I wouldn't get to see you."

"Are you skipping work?"

He shakes his head. "They have a new lighting director at the studio and he doesn't know what's going on so they had to pause and redo the lights six times and the other models were complaining and they were already way behind schedule so they told me to just leave because they probably couldn't fit me in before the end of the day and they'd reschedule, so…here I am. Happy birthday."

"It's not my birthday yet."

"We're celebrating today, aren't we?"

Midorima squeezes his hands. He's not sure what to say, what to do; all of the doubts that had been swirling in his mind are settling down and sinking to the bottom but his heartbeat is accelerating. Kise smiles and Midorima's stomach constricts; he's so damn beautiful sometimes—he's beautiful and he's here holding Midorima's hands and Midorima's heart. He leans forward to place a kiss on Midorima's cheek and Midorima forgets all of these thoughts; it's hard to make sense of them now, anyway.

"Come on; I'll buy you dinner," Kise says, pulling him forward.

And he lets himself be led.


End file.
